


Didn't Learn It From The Pizza Man

by twisting_vine_x



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twisting_vine_x/pseuds/twisting_vine_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: "Would you have wished me to inform her that I learned such things from you?”</p><p>(A/N: A much-needed coda to 'Caged Heat').</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't Learn It From The Pizza Man

Castiel has barely appeared in the dingy room before Dean has curled his hands into the lapels of that stupid trench coat, and whirled the angel around to slam him up against the filthy motel wall, taking a brief moment of utterly vicious humour at the barely concealed surprise in Castiel’s eyes.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Even as Dean snarls out the words, a distant part of his brain – the part that’s still sober, despite the half bottle of whiskey he’s already knocked back – knows that the only thing keeping Castiel in place is Castiel himself, and the thought just makes Dean even more furious, sending a sheet of white across his vision. In the dim light of one motel lamp, Dean can still clearly see Castiel’s expression as Castiel just fucking stares at him, their bodies shoved together from knee to chest.

“I do not understand the question. And you have been drinking.”

Castiel sounds like he’s been chewing gravel, sounds like he’s about two seconds away from smiting Dean into ashes, and Dean pushes against him harder, digging his fingers in tighter – ignoring the way heat is screeching across his body, ignoring the smell that’s always clung to Cas, something fresh and sweet and far too dangerous for Dean to be getting involved with.

“You. You bastard. With the porn, and with Meg, and –”

“Would you have wished me to inform her that I learned such things from you?”

Castiel sounds well and truly pissed now, that growl shooting straight across every inch of Dean’s skin, and Dean feels his chest tighten with hurt, even as anger keeps his blood pounding in his own temples. It’s been years, two goddamn years since Castiel fucked back off to Heaven, leaving Dean down on Earth to deal with losing Sam alone, and Castiel _isn’t allowed to suddenly starting fucking with Dean like this._

“You bastard. You fucking bastard.”

“Dean –”

“Don’t you ‘Dean’ me! You don’t get to fuck with me like this!”

Dean wants to hit him. He wants to punch Castiel until Castiel feels something beyond his stupid angelic remoteness. He wants to press his face against the neck in front of him, and rub his stubble against Castiel’s neck. He wants to curl up inside that trench coat and hold on for dear life, try to hang on to the one person who he thought might stick around, after everyone else left him –

But mostly Dean just wants to punch him.

“I drank myself to sleep for months. Snapped at Ben once, scared the shit out of all of us. Fuck knows why Lisa even kept me around. Why did you –” His voice actually cracks, and Dean tears his hands away and turns his back to Castiel, trying to pretend he isn’t shaking from head to toe. “You stupid, stupid bastard –”

“Dean –”

“Why the fuck didn’t you stay? And what are you playing at now?”

Dean thinks he can feel something inside himself crumbling – his fingers aching with the need to touch, and his heart doing its best to beat clean from his chest, as his traitorous throat closes up, words getting trapped beneath the shame. He wasn’t going to do this when he called Castiel down again – wasn’t going to stand here and hurl insults like a drunken idiot, his eyes itching dangerously and his hands curled into fists at his sides, with his brother off doing god knows what, and an angel of the fucking lord making a mockery out of Dean’s stupid human feelings. 

“Dean.” The sudden softness there slices through every flayed nerve, and then Dean is being carefully turned around, Castiel standing far too close, all stupid big blue eyes, one hand curled around Dean’s trembling arm. “You never asked me to stay.”

“I shouldn’t have had to!”

He’s sounding hysterical to his own ears, and when he tries to pull away, Castiel just grips his arm tighter, fingers digging in close to the brand that will forever remind Dean of the being who defines his entire existence.

“Dean. I couldn’t ask you for what you couldn’t give.” Castiel is way too close again, the rasp in his voice scraping across Dean’s exhausted skin, and Dean manages to raise his eyes to meet the way-too-blue ones in front of him, his mind swimming with anger and cheap whiskey. “Don’t you understand?”

“Cas, you fucker –”

“You _promised,_ Dean. And – and I couldn’t ask you to break your last promise to your brother.”

And now Castiel is sounding nervous, maybe even terrified – and Dean gets it suddenly, the epiphany hitting like a chill of cold water down his spine, a sudden twist of nausea in his stomach, as Castiel stares and stares and stares at him, eyes blown wide and his skin flushed pink with what looks like fear.

_You promised Sam._

Dean feels his stomach turn over as Castiel fucking deflates in front of him, fingers still digging into Dean’s arms as his shoulders slump, as he seems to curl in on himself, even as he doesn’t tear his gaze away.

“Cas –”

“Dean, please.” Castiel’s eyes are bright and disconcertingly wide, and he’s looking almost panicked, which is way too much human emotion on a face that had recently seemed carved out of stone. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I can’t seem to stop – I don’t want an hour alone with Meg – Dean, I don’t want to be up in Heaven fighting the other angels, I want to, I want –”

Dean refuses to acknowledge the noise that escapes his own lips as he shoves his flushed face into Castiel’s neck, causing the angel’s words to stutter off, their bodies drawing together with a force that Dean had never had a hope of fighting, Dean’s hands drunkenly scrambling for something to hold onto. Castiel is shaking against him, fucking _shaking_ , and it’s been too long, months and months of loneliness and self-loathing, and fuck, Castiel is _still_ shaking. 

“Fuck, Cas.” He breathes it into the salty skin pressed against his lips. “Couldn’t you have found a better way to get me pissed than by macking on Meg?” 

“I was desperate.” The words are unsteady, rasped and uneven, but Castiel is making a valiant effort, even as Dean’s lips drag across the angel’s skin. “You – you did not demonstrate any interest in recommencing our relationship, and I – I haven’t... I have been blocking my access to your mind since you indicated how uncomfortable it makes you. Dean, I had no way of knowing –”

Castiel seems to lose his capacity for words as Dean gratefully slides his arms around the angel’s solid body, holding onto him as tight as he can, distantly wondering if this moment could just last forever. It’s everything he’s been missing for months, the puzzle pieces slotting together, the feel of Castiel’s body against his waking up every dead nerve ending in Dean’s exhausted body, and he can’t even be bothered to feel ashamed of how pathetic he’s acting.

“Dean.” It’s a shaky sigh, the gentle press of Castiel’s breath brushing across Dean’s hair, little spikes of sensation shooting across his scalp. “I told you. I prefer to be here. I will always prefer to be here.”

Dean wants to keep on cursing, or shout some more, or ask why Castiel ever left at all if this is where he wants to be, why he didn't just _talk_ to Dean instead of leaving – but all Dean can do it hold on and squeeze his eyes shut, as he drowns in the feeling of Castiel’s hands hesitantly sliding down his back, arms wrapping around him the way Dean has already curled around the angel.

“I may not always be able to remain by your side,” Castiel continues softly, his voice barely a murmur, those warm hands pulling Dean even closer to his body, “Not with the current state of Heaven – but for as long as you want me, I am yours.”

The brutal honesty there steals any chance Dean had of responding, but even as Dean nods into Castiel’s neck and clings to the body pressed against his, he knows that the confession shouldn’t be enough. It doesn’t make up for the absolute hell Dean went through after Castiel left, and it won’t undo the nights Dean spent drunkenly curled up on the hood of the Impala, his entire body aching for someone to make things alright, needing someone to hold his shattered world together – 

“Dean.”

Castiel breathes his name again, sounding desperate in a way that an angel never should, hands scrabbling for stronger purchase on Dean’s body, tightening his grip until Dean can barely get enough oxygen – and Dean realizes that, even if this doesn’t fix things, maybe it’s still enough to give them another chance. 

Maybe they can put this train wreck back together, if they both want it bad enough to try. 

“Yeah, alright, Cas.” Dean can hear the exhaustion in his voice, as all his limbs seem to turn to a particularly wimpy form of jelly. “Alright, you win.” 

Castiel’s wordless response is to press his lips into Dean’s hair, and as Dean’s traitorous knees go even wobblier at the tenderness in the gesture, he uses it as an excuse to keep holding on, pressing his whiskey breath into Castiel’s neck, and wondering if they really could stay balanced in this moment forever.


End file.
